


Hell's Safe

by Jak_the_ATAT



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 2019, Abaddon (Supernatural) - Freeform, Amara (supernatural) - Freeform, Apple Juice, Body mutilation, Bomb, Dean Winchester - Freeform, Demons, Hell, Hiding, Horror, King of Hell, Mac and Cheese, Major character death - Freeform, Minor Character Death, Phone Call, SPN Eldritch Bang, Sam Winchester - Freeform, Sneaking, castiel - Freeform, crowley - Freeform, rowena - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 04:42:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21093587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jak_the_ATAT/pseuds/Jak_the_ATAT
Summary: When a threat invades the Underworld and starts mass murdering demons, the King of Hell soon learns to become the King of sneaking-around-Hell in order to survive the horrors brought upon his own kingdom.For the Supernatural Eldritch Bang 2019.





	Hell's Safe

**Author's Note:**

> This fic would not be possible without the support of all the fantastic people who supported this story all the way. 
> 
> My astounding artist, BeesAreAwesome  
My badass betas, CR Noble and Kitmistry  
My idea dealers, CR Noble, Kitmistry, TheYMP  
And the motivational mods of the SPN Eldritch Bang who made this all possible. You can find out more about the Eldritch bang at the end notes.

"_This is Hell. Nothing is worse than Hell. Hell's safe. Well, safe as whatever safe is possible to muster up down here." _

They were only meant to be snarky words. Nothing more. Instead, they created a false sense of security for him. They were his pride when he made them; they were his downfall when he felt them. Now, all that was left of Hell were bare corridors, cold abandoned rooms, and slowly-becoming-dusty torture racks. Even without the ability to really feel temperature, the chill reached his bones. No voices dared whisper. No shoes dared tapping. No one dared make a noise out of fear they would alert THEM. 

He remembered the day THEY entered. Hell has been minding its own business when its Purgatory entrance was blasted open. Chaos ensued. Left and right, demons were exorcised in painful ways. It didn't matter how they fought the threat, the demons always lost, strangled or sliced. Bodies piled on every corner. Crowley wouldn’t stand for this. A king should protect his people, and he planned to go up to fight. Instead, his advisors pushed him back away from the door. Past the north stone archway, all he saw were demons withering as smoke poured from their mouth. Some demons simply had a knife stab. Around the corner, someone, something, was killing his demons.

He would have shoved aside his bodyguards. He would have gone up to fight, but in retrospect, he was glad she had been there to pull him away from the fight. Down the halls they ran, the screaming, dying demons behind them. Together, they twisted through Hell’s corridors, her throwing whatever she could in their path to slow THEM down and him navigating Hell’s twisting staircases and doors, which kept landing them in random locations. The farther down they went, the less modern Hell became, and the colder and slimier the walls became. 

Deep, deep into Hell's lowest pits, they found the old, mouldy dungeons. With his strength and her skills, they shut the heavy door, ignoring the cobwebs that touched their fingers. She winced but didn’t say a word, her fear overpowering her disgust. And when the door was closed, they were safe in the old dungeon. For now. 

And they remained in that dungeon for days, frightened by the solid footsteps that passed; sometimes one pair, sometimes two, maybe more... it was hard to count. It was even more unbelievable that the door was never pounded upon or thrust open. Maybe they were just lucky. Crowley certainly hoped so. 

Sitting on the floor and staring at the door, Crowley contemplated their next move as he picked at a stitch upon his cuff which was coming undone. His eyes studied the mossy interior, which was once bare stone until Hell decided to stop taking care of it. These were the old dungeons. Crowley hadn’t used them in years, especially after he showed Castiel his new and improved Hell. The old ones brought back memories he didn’t like to think about; didn’t want to think about. The last time he used these dungeons… he had been a young demon. Azazel has brought him down here under Lucifer’s command to shackle and torture a German politician. The memory still made a shiver run up his spine. Hell under Lucifer was a cruel place even for demons. It was a wonder how any demons survived past the Lucifer years, considering how often the archangel killed demons for his own entertainment. 

Down here, in this stone ice block, they were isolated. Which wasn’t too much of a problem for Crowley. Sure, it was disgusting, with all the creepy crawlers wandering around, and the dampness that seeped through his clothes, which could never dry no matter how he tried. But he didn’t need subsistence. He didn't have bodily functions. He would have been fine, a forgotten figure in Hell, had it not been for one factor. Not everyone in this dungeon was a demon. 

Behind him, his mother snuggled deeper into the one blanket she had. 

* * *

Crowley took off his shoes and grabbed a knife. It would do nothing against the threat. But it made him feel safer. Fucking placebo effect. Shoving the heavy door a crack, he peeked out and scanned the corridor. Nothing. He stepped out into the cold hallway, his feet too numb to feel the cold seeping into his skin and muscles from the stone anymore. 

Even in their dystopian situation, Rowena would not quit mothering him. “You know that knife won’t do anything.”

“I’m well aware, Mother,” Crowley hummed back, trying not to show his annoyance. 

Rowena sighed softly. She snarked and bitched a lot to him, but Crowley knew better. Having her down in Hell for so long prior to the invasion had taught him that her persistent comments were sometimes a way for her to remain calm and destress herself. And stress wouldn’t help them at all. Not in this situation. “Don’t do anything stupid and come back safely,” she instructed.

He gave her a curt nod. He wouldn't promise his safety but he would try to abide by her wishes. Before he left, he glanced back at her. Her makeup was mostly gone, but sometimes in the dim light, he could see the streaks of her mascara still there. Her blue dress was torn at the cuffs and the folds. Holes at the elbows revealed the raw flesh she couldn’t heal from the constant dampness. And her hair was matted. No matter how they tried, neither could undo all the knots that now lived upon her head. Gone was the glamorous image Rowena had cultivated for herself through the centuries. Gone in just a month. 

Crowley shut the door. Bare feet patted along the corridor, passing the other dungeon doors which all looked alike. Crowley didn't need light to see through the darkness, which was why he was the one sneaking through his own kingdom and not Rowena. He knew every trap to avoid that had been carved in the floors, walls, and ceilings. He knew shortcuts and reroutes. Hell was his home. Hardly anyone knew it better than him. He had torn it down and built it from the ground up, after all. The only thing he had to watch out for were any demon bodies that remained, a sign someone was near or a recent slaying had occurred to the demons that returned back to Hell from the Earth's soils. Most bodies were cleaned up, and he could only guess THEY actually cared about housekeeping, for he was unaware of any other remaining demon presence in Hell. 

Peeking around the corner, Crowley darted to the old wooden stairs. He hopped onto them just before they flipped upside down and sent him into a giant room of staircases shifting about Hogwarts style or flipping upside down or sideways. And then there was the one he was on, which split in half and the two ends pivoted away from one another. 

Sweat slipped into his eyes from his brow and beaded the bridge of his nose. Crowley’s eyes locked on to a staircase passing above—no, below him. Right, he was upside. He released the staircase he was on and landed on the moving staircase, careful not to make any loud and sudden sounds. THEY might hear him. Then he ran to the end of it and leapt on to another passing staircase, which stopped when it reached a door. It tipped so it was straight up and down. Crowley climbed it like a ladder to the door. He held on to the doorknob until his vessel’s blood pressure went down and his breath was back. Obviously, this vessel wasn’t a fit one, and he certainly hadn’t helped it. Should have probably cut back with the whiskey. But, hell, how much he craved a glass right now to calm him, and he’d be damned if he didn’t get one last drink in before THEY killed him, if ever. 

The door ended him in the fractals room, where he just kept walking by repetitive images of himself. Crowley put his arm out and dragged it through the Crowley bodies—his already damp hand trembling from the misty imagery—feeling for the metal pole that signalled an exit. Sometimes the pole was right at the entrance. Sometimes it took forever to find it. 

Today it wasn’t far from the entrance. His hand whacked against it and Crowley grabbed it and shoved it forwards, opening a door just to his right. He entered it and found himself on the top level of Hell, which was filled with dead technology and brightly coloured rooms and halls. Crowley went down the hall to the pantry, staying tight to the right where the floor didn’t creak. He ducked into an open room and listened for footsteps or voices. When nothing but his vessel’s heartbeat and a slight breeze of an abandoned room reached his ears, Crowley continued on. Never before had he appreciated human flesh, dead or alive, as he did right now. Human flesh made him quiet, even if the sound of his bare feet against the floor sounded like thunder to his ears. 

Two corridors later, Crowley reached the pantry. Wincing at the grumbling of wood against wood, he opened the draws and cabinets, making note of whatever food was left. Stale bread, some other rotting foods, a few canned goods, and a box of Mac and Cheese. Three cases of spring water, still unopened. Why did they have apple juice? No one but Amara drank… riiight. Amara. She ate half his demons, leaving his forces weak. And not long after she left, THEY invaded. 

Other cabinets were completely empty. There was far less food than Crowley remembered last time he made a food run. Either THEY were eating the food, or other demons were alive. He hoped the latter. 

But he couldn’t stay here for long. Spinning the knife, he cut open the closest case of water and grabbed two water bottles. His hand went for the bread and he left the pantry as quickly as he came. But not before he chugged whiskey straight from the bottle. He took a new shortcut, always checking twice behind him or around corners. Indistinct voices echoed off the stone walls, sometimes distorting which direction they were coming from. Sometimes they were behind him, and sometimes he could swear they were waiting for him behind the next closed door. But he was always wrong. The voices always faded away.

When he returned to the room, he tapped on it ever so gently in a special rhythm. Rowena opened the door, relief evident in her face, and moved her hex bags so he could walk through. Without a word, he stepped in and she locked the door. He cut her a piece of bread. "Try and make this last."

“I’m not a pig, Fergus,” she hissed, putting on a brave face again 

“Crowley.” 

Rowena huffed. She sat down and wrapped herself tighter in her blanket. Slowly nibbling on her chunk, her lips pursed as she brushed her plastered hair out of her face. Crowley sat in the back of the room against the damp and mossy wall, listening to the draft wind from under the door and his mother’s breathing and chewing; the only sounds he could hear. 

* * *

_ "Let me get this straight. You can't do anything yourself so you ask me to help you? Brilliant move, I must say." _

_ "Please, Crowley, I need someone who knows the true evils of the supernatural." _

_ "Thought you would choose those Winchester boys before you ever came running to a demon. They know plenty about evil." _

_ "They can't help with this." _

* * *

Rowena had gone through the Codex five, six, maybe seven times. And she was rereading again. If she wasn’t studying the sigil book Crowley found, she was reading that damned Codex. She claimed she was going to find a solution to their predicament, but Crowley didn’t believe it. First, the Codex was a code for the Book of the Damned, which they didn’t have. Second, Crowley wasn’t sure Rowena actually knew the code to crack the Codex anyway. Whether she could read the Codex or not, she never told him. Then again, he never asked.

While she read, Crowley looked at his phone. It still had a little battery juice left despite him not charging it for a good month. He had turned it off when he and Rowena first hid in the room and only tried to call the Winchester brothers twice, once from the room and once from his throne room. Neither call connected. And he realized Hell's cell routers weren't even on anymore (he swung by the room on one of his food scavenging trips to check). 

He had already tried calling the remaining demons through a blood ritual. He killed one remaining demon he found by himself to drain the blood. But THEY were always ahead of him. Every demon he called ended in that demon's bloodshed. And eventually, he gave up hope trying agian. 

Perhaps he should turn on and warm up the routers to call Dean or Sam. It would be worth the risk, yet also not worth the risk. He had something to lose if he died: his kingdom, his life, and his mother. And, less importantly, his dignity. 

Crowley put his phone away. He watched his mother remove her shoes, quietly complaining about the cold floor. She took her own knife—which offered her the same security he had—and headed for the door. She never left unless it was to relieve herself and Crowley always wondered if she would never come back because she got lost. He moved the hex bags, then turned to him over her shoulder. "You remember the curse?" she asked him. 

“No, Mother, I was born yesterday. I don’t remember.”

His mother shot him a disapproving grimace. “Watch your tongue, wee lad.” With that, she left and Crowley set the hex bags back.

He didn't have to wait long. She was back within ten minutes, though her knocking was hurried and she barely got their code right. Still, Crowley let her in, knowing it was her. "They're coming," she whispered, her body shaking as much as her breath. Her words stumbled over one another. “I saw their shadows following me back."

Neither hesitated. Whether she was lying or not, Crowley didn't care. Rowena opened up the sigil book and tossed it to the ground. She grabbed her knife, Crowley doing the same. Simultaneously, their hands stopped, the knife hovering just over their free hand. Crowley's mind flashed through all the images of the dead demon bodies, and realization slowly hit him. Rowena seemed to be thinking the same thing. "They're not demons or angels," Crowley said, remembering how the bodies didn't have the singe marks left by demons and angels when they killed one another. 

"We can't put anything on," Rowena finished. They retreated their hands. Blood sigils were out of the question. Crowley closed the book as Rowena checked her hex bags. They huddled in the back of the room, Crowley with his knife out and Rowena with one hand ready to cast a spell while the other clung to the handle of her knife. 

Footsteps thudded through the hall, first fast, then slowing as they drew closer. Both Rowena and Crowley tensed. Crowley’s hands shook, and he tried to steady them to hide his nervousness from his mother. He had to remain calm for her. Rowena’s breathing hitched, her jaw working to try and stifle or silence herself. She wouldn’t stop shivering, her already cold body pressed up against the wall. Neither blinked. How could they? One blink and their life could be over. As thick as the door was, it didn't have the power to trap in sounds or smells. And Crowley had no idea what THEIR strength was, nor how THEY tracked people. Like dogs? Like humans? Like wendigos? Vampires?

_ ‘Quiet!’ _ He scolded himself in his mind. _ ‘Concentrate on the threat.’ _

The footsteps stopped before their door. Rowena’s hand slipped into the folds of her dress to squeeze it for comfort, only to make a squelching sound with how much water had collected in the fabric. The two glanced at each other, Crowley shooting a glare at Rowena, who gave an ‘oh shit’ expression. 

Long moments after, the footsteps moved away and Rowena and Crowley relaxed. Rowena’s hand unclamped her dress and the knife. Crowley’s knuckles finally returned to their reddish colour as his knife clattered to the ground. 

* * *

"We need to get you to the surface,” Rowena muttered upon Crowley’s return from his food run, five days after his last one, “Or at least somewhere where you can contact another demon. Or…” her shoulders shuddered, “those _ Winchesters. _”

“The Winchesters?” Crowley flinched at how loud that came out. Lowering his voice, he continued, “Mother, are you sick? Last time I tried to call them you practically bit off my head saying no.”

Rowena grumbled. "I hate to say it, but we need those boys’ help. I don't know how to deal with this threat ourselves."

"Neither do I," Crowley hushed. He hated admitting his own incompetence, and especially in front of his mother of all people. He was the King of Hell, for cripes sake. As king, he should be able to do anything. Not hide away in a small room in his kingdom.

But with his demons gone—either killed or kidnapped, if that’s what THEY were doing—Crowley wasn't about to risk himself. Selfish, he knew, but someone had to stay alive to send an alert that Hell was under distress. And with the amount of power inside him, he had the best shot at surviving. 

"Do you think anyone knows?" Rowena asked. She finished the last piece of bread, struggling to chew the hard crust. "That Hell isn't what it used to be?"

Crowley shook his head. "Probably not. Perhaps the reapers know something's off. But they never had faith in me. More than likely, they assume I am just being a terrible king."

Rowena sank back against the wall, sighing. "How much longer do you think we will have to hide here? It's not the most comfortable."

"I don't know. Days. Months. Maybe years. At least I will. If the food runs out, you may die."

"How reassuring," Rowena chuckled lightly, shaking her head. Her thin body shivered and she wrapped the blanket tighter to her. And Crowley didn’t mind sitting next to her to offer her whatever warmth his vessel's dead body could give. 

“I’ll call them soon. Once you’ve had more to eat.”

“Then get me something, Fergus.”

“Crowley. And I’m not your slave.”

“No, but you are my son. You abide by your Mummy’s wishes, don’t you?” 

* * *

_ "Heaven won't help me. The Winchesters won't either." _

_ "But apparently I can?" _

_ "Yes. Because you are a demon. You understand more than most." _

_ "Then why are you here?" _

_ "I need to share with you a warning, Crowley." _

_ "Why do you care about happens down here?" _

_ "Because I fear for you, what may happen next." _

_ "....Fine. What's your big warning?" _

_ "Run." _

* * *

The macaroni box was nearly finished. The hex bags were dried up and needed to be replenished. Only a single bottle of water remained in the pantry along with some vodka. The air was stale, hard to breathe through. Whatever oxygen Hell used to pump in to keep the victims alive, it was going bad. Even Crowley, who didn't need the air to live, felt the change in the air. It was affecting his vessel, making it slower and less responsive to his brain’s quick movement choices. 

Rowena may be a witch but she was still human. He couldn’t forget that. Three weeks without food. Three days without water. Three minutes without oxygen, assuming she could hold her breath. That's how long she could go. Crowley wasn’t even interested in testing any of those boundaries. 

And no matter how much he despised his mother at one point, and no matter how much she despised him and tried to get Sam Winchester to kill him at one point, none of that mattered anymore. Crowley would not let THEM take his mother. Rowena would not let THEM take her son.

Right now, Rowena was lying in the corner of the room, curled up. She was using the sigil book and the Codex as a pillow. If her 1.57m body wasn’t already small, she looked even smaller, maybe even juvenile. He couldn’t see her shivering like usual. He couldn’t see her breathing. And for a moment, Crowley worried she may have finally given up on living. 

"Mother?” Crowley hushed, holding his breath ever so slightly in hopes he didn’t have to crawl over and check her pulse. 

Rowena didn’t move, but he still heard her light whisper. “Yes, Fergus?" 

Once upon a time, he hated it when she called him that. Now, he couldn't even care. It meant she was still alive, alive and strong enough to speak. Enough for him to care, enough for him to have _ feelings _for the fact his mother was alive. 

"I think it's time we call the Winchesters." He held up his phone. 

She lifted her head tiredly and stared at him. "I thought you said you can't get your phone to work." Her voice was a weak tremble, barely loud enough to reach his ears.

"Not without Hell's routers off." He thought for a moment, trying to draw a plan out in his mind. "If I could just turn the routers back on, I can call the Winchesters; get the word out there that Hell is sending an SOS."

Her skinny arm pushed herself to a sitting position, Crowley trying not to show any emotion or ask her to quiet her popping joints. "And what if THEY see you?” Worry crossed the creases under her eyes. “You expect them to wait for you to make the call before they attack you?"

"I won't be going alone.” Crowley tossed the phone between his hands. “You will come with." Rowena rolled her eyes but she was listening. Her arms crossed as Crowley continued. "I have a feeling this threat isn’t used to dealing with powerful witch magic. That's why I want you to help me. Should THEY find us, you can hold him off if he comes in while I get the routers going."

"And what if it goes wrong?"

Details, details. What was he going to say to her for this one? _ 'Sacrifice yourself so I can get my mission done?' _As much as he wanted to, he needed her help. "I will fight them. You make the call."

"I barely know how to use a phone, Fergus!"

Crowley places a finger over his lips, his brows knitting into one of anger. "Keep. Your voice. Down.” He paused for dramatic effect before he lowered his arm. "I will set the phone up before we leave this room." He opened his flip-phone and showed it to her. "All you will need to do is press this green button and it will call Dean Winchester." 

Rowena nodded but her eyes gave away her concern. And she had a right to be concerned. After all, neither of them were sure what they were facing. "When should we do it?" Rowena asked. 

Crowley checked his watch. "Two hours. That's when things get quieter." And with that, they waited, neither speaking. Rowena read the Codex again. Crowley lay next to her and read the sigil book, refreshing his memory for possibly the last time. 

* * *

Two hours passed. Rowena finished gnawing on the last macaroni piece, mustering whatever energy she could find. She moved the hex bags and armed herself with her knife. Crowley did the same, but included the phone, turning it on and setting the contact to Dean Winchester as he promised. The two opened the door together and peeked down the lonely corridor. Nothing.

Barefooted they ran, Crowley leading. Through the stairs, into the fractal room, down some number of flights of stairs, and twice down the same hallway with a long row of ugly scenery pictures Abaddon had set up and Crowley had yet to take down, which lead Rowena to doubt Crowley’s knowledge of Hell. “Hell is a big place, Mother!” Crowley snapped. “And it was meant to be this confusing.”

“You’re not making this mission any faster,” she warned, that smug smirk upon her lips. 

A few times, they ducked into an empty room when they heard shoes tapping the stone floors. Crowley didn't see the people and neither did Rowena. They just listened until the footsteps passed before moving on, shadows creeping under the door cracks and then disappearing

What felt like forever was only ten minutes according to Crowley’s watch before they reached the tech room, where the giant wifi router sat. As he predicted, the entire router was shut down when he opened the small door. What he didn’t expect were all the demon bodies laying around. Some of them still had their knees in. Others’ heads were gone. And some were just the vessels left over. All of the bodies were set a certain way to create a blockage to the router. Someone had been here. Crowley sighed and picked his way through the bodies, kicking some aside rather than stepping over them. In contrast, his mother delicately tip-toes over the first few with a squeamish look on her face before stopping. She used her magic to separate the bodies and make an alleyway to the router. _ ‘You could have done that sooner,’ _ Crowley thought, but he knew better than to open his mouth.

At the router, Crowley knelt down, reaching for the many tangled plugs. A thought then occurred to him and he put the cord ball down. “Let's get some chairs from the meeting area and make a barricade against the room’s door." Again, Rowena wasn't pleased with the choice. But she didn't voice her opinion. Perhaps she didn't have words to add or perhaps she didn't want to admit that she thought he was right. 

Crowley had placed the router room only two doors down from the meeting room. Nothing had locks in Hell which was nice because getting into the meeting room was hard on its own, with the door being extremely creaky. He knew he should have had it replaced it before all this went down but Crowley had felt too lazy. Now he kind of regretted it. 

It took both their shoulders to get the door open, which was not a quiet feat. The squeaking hinges made both cringe, and quite a few grunts escaped their mouths. The yawning door scraped the ground as it bumbled along, threatening to fall shut until they pushed it far enough. And the wood groaned from old age. They gathered the chairs and went back and forth, bringing a dozen of them into the tech room. Then they shut the tech room's doors. Rowena and Crowley quickly worked to move the chairs into position. Rowena even threw a little magic on the chairs to lock them into place naturally. 

Crowley returned to the cord ball and sat down to work on it. He didn't get very far before Rowena joined him. "I may not know how to use a phone, but untangling has always been one of my specialties." Fair enough, he would let her do it. He let her take the bundle of cords and held her knife in hand, watching the door and occasionally glancing back to see her progress. “_ Solve fasciculos _.” The wires untangled on their own, one coming free, then another, and another until the entire ball fell apart. 

“Cheater,” Crowley mouthed. Rowena smirked. 

She laid the cords out so they wouldn't tangle again. Crowley plugged in the giant router and turned it on, listening to the satisfying hum of the machine warming up. He didn't want to jinx it but this may be easier than he thought it would be. Behind him, his mother watched, a soft smile on her face as she heard the hum from the machines.

All too soon, their hopes were crushed when something banged on the door. Crowley’s heart stopped. Like a mechanical machine, he slowly turned towards the door to study it. Whoever hit the other side of the door was strong. The chairs had shifted so they were no longer stacked as tightly as they once were. 

Rowena held her hands out and concentrated on the door. "Get the call out now, Fergus," She growled dangerously.

"I'm trying." Fucking router was too old for speed. 

BANG!

The chairs shifted again. Rowena flicked her fingers, muttering, and resetting the chairs. 

BANG!

Rowena's spell did little. The chairs weren't going to hold for long. 

BANG!

The router finished warming up but his phone wasn't picking up the signal. A chair broke. "Call them!" Rowena snapped. 

"Technology problems!" Crowley hissed back. 

BANG!

Crowley thought he heard a familiar voice on the other side, but the door muffled most all his words and he couldn't make out anything. Except what he thought was the word 'bomb.'

Rowena backed up. "Oh god, they're setting a bomb," she said, shaking. When she saw he still wasn't on the phone, her blood boiled and she nagged him. "I thought phones made things faster!"

"In some things, Mother! Apparently not this!"

The two heard beeping. Their hearts stopped as the beeping sped up. Crowley glanced down at the phone and his eyes brightened. There! Connection! He reached for the green button.

The door blew up. 

* * *

Crowley wasn't knocked out but he was thrown into the giant router. Next to him was his mother, barely recognizable with her mutilated and burned body. Whatever was left of her face was staring somewhere past him, unseeing. "Mother!" He wailed. He tried to get up only to find his vessel too had been ruined by the bomb. His legs were no more and one hand only had a single finger on it. 

Two pairs of footsteps entered the room. Surprisingly, Crowley's phone still had service and was still in his hand. The one router that mattered still functioned. He pressed 'Call' on Dean Winchester just as the two pairs of footsteps stopped on each side of him.

Above him, a phone began ringing. 

* * *

_ "Run? You can't be serious, Castiel. Why would I run from my own kingdom?" _

_ "There are people who want to replace you as king of Hell. And they will hurt you far worse than you have ever imagined." _

_ "This is Hell. Nothing is worse than Hell. Hell's safe. Well, safe as whatever safe is possible to muster up down here. Now tell me, who wants to replace me?" _

_ "Lucifer's successor. His vessel, The Boy King of Hell." _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please leave a comment/kudos! 
> 
> Wanna know more about the Eldritch Bang? Check out their tumblr and LiveJournal here:  
https://spneldritchbang.tumblr.com/post/184924971633/2019-spn-eldritch-bang  
https://spneldritchbang.livejournal.com/
> 
> Check out BeesAreAwesome's other works!  
https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesAreAwesome/pseuds/BeesAreAwesome  
https://bees0are0awesome.tumblr.com/


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